


Peal Blossom

by Hipsterian



Series: Blooming Period [3]
Category: Winner (Band)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Hanahaki Disease, Language of Flowers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 13:16:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19831006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hipsterian/pseuds/Hipsterian
Summary: Peal Blossom - Hope. Everlasting Friendship - Fragile Strength





	Peal Blossom

It has never occurred to him until it happened, until Seunghoon is, literally, gleaming in front of him as if covered by glitter, as if dancing under the stars, the moonbeams coating his skin in silver. He was left captivated, allured by his mere presence as if seeing him for the first time as if something new – in a way it was.

He had always been fascinated by Seunghoon – witty and funny, caring and free, always changing and transmuting into something else, something that brought Seungyoon peace and assurance, even in his bad moods he was still incredible, shining under the sea. – But this time was different; it was like being soaked by the sun, warm and summery even in between February. It felt like blooming – it was blooming inside, his chest exploding with flowers that were pure white and delicate; he breathed in and it was intoxicating, the unknown aroma drowning his senses; it felt like spring and his heartbeat like a trapped, hummingbird. It didn’t hurt back then because it was fresh and new and settling amid his flesh and bones; it was pure and simple, unnoticeable.

It hurts later with the taste of soft, pretty petals captured between his plump lips like a song about to be sung, they fall like music notes in a sheet, like the snow covering the streets, the same colour, the same texture but smooth and warm over his palm where they layer, piled in a wrinkle of pale and beautiful, broken flowers – just like his heart does and it this now when it starts to hurt, like having his chest ripped open and an empty pocket where his core once stayed.

It is what it is, he knows. He sighs and another bunch of petals swirl from his mouth. The air in his lungs smells just like him and, like this, he realizes that he is into Seunghoon, the meaning behind all the soft stares, all the longing and waiting for him – all the care he bathes him with and that he adores, now revealing its true significance: love.

It doesn’t change anything; Seungyoon does what he does the best and keeps it between his teeth, staring at Seunghoon as if never dreaming of catching his lips, as if he never thought of kissing him and allow his perfume to stink into him, to drive him crazy, drinking from his eyes the air of his chest – becoming drunk with love and lust and all the feelings he treasure only for him and that threatens his ribs wanting to break free. – But if flowers are blooming inside of him there is nothing to do and confessing to him won’t change his fate – that Seunghoon doesn’t love him, this is what he knows, coughing petals covered in mellow pastel hues of red and amber.

Love revolts around his chest but never leaves its place, never escapes his lips and he is dying – the air comes dim and he breathes forcefully, coughing full flowers with stems and roots and other painful things tinted in the same shameful red as his cheeks whenever he is bliss seeing him and that stinks like rotten fruits, too sweet and sticks as if faking sickness, covering his tongue with the taste of something wonderful.

Seungyoon looks at him with amazement and Seunghoon reads it in his pupils, smiling sadly at him – he has been caught in the open, too easy to understand, his love too great to hideaway. Seunghoon slips into his bed tonight and sleeps wrapping his arms around his waist, capturing him by his side (Seungyoon can rest even if, in the morning, he will poke petals again because this means nothing, this is only a truce, a subterfuge to give him a break.

But when morning comes and so does the flowers, Seunghoon is still by him, his hands patting his back, ogling them falling into the pillow, flustered.

“They are peal blossoms” he states as if Seungyoon didn’t know – he does, he has felt the flavour taking his palatal and it was like kissing his mouth. “It means everlasting friendship” and Seungyoon nods, finding it amusing how the meaning that holds the flowers he is gardening is so clear, so clean: Seunghoon has always been someone who he looks up to, someone who was more than a friend but a friend still, someone who he wants to have forever right next to him.

“I’ll kill them. All these flowers and the illness. I’ll get over it” he promises but Seunghoon disagrees.

“Why don’t you let me love you instead?”

He nods again this time, wanting for nothing but this. It is just a chaste kiss, lip against lip in a soft, graceful touch, but its taste snarls into his mouth and it feels just right, perfect. When he kisses him again, he lets it drown all his senses, lets Seunghoon embrace him all – it takes him a month for the flowers to cease; two days after it, Seunghoon confesses.

“You are the only friend I need, my boyfriend.” After it, Seungyoon makes sure to kill with his mouth his words, too embarrassed and mortified to handle all this clinginess – which he loved, indeed.


End file.
